Want to keep reading?

You've reached the end of your complimentary access. Subscribe for as little as $4/month.

Subscribe
Aready a Subscriber ? Sign In
1993, Washington DC—
a new voice was being added to the Supreme Court.
It was the voice of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
It was a young voice, but it was strong.
And though she was young, she sang as loud as she could in the choir of the Supreme Court.
She was different from anyone there, but she still sang loud and bright and beautifully in the court.
Her beautiful song suggested a place where everyone is equal.
No one is hated, no one is oppressed.

Her song gained attention from those everywhere.
They turned on their radios and TVs and opened their newspapers to hear her song.
She sang for those listening. Sang to honor their voices, just so they could feel like people, like everyone else.
Ruth was finally heard, heads turned.
She became the star of the choir, singing louder and louder.
She worked so hard, faced so many challenges, but she kept singing.
All of this just so the people could feel like people.

She provided hope for those who thought that they would never get to hear a voice, a song, that honored them,
that they would never get to live in a world where they mattered.
But why did she have to work so hard, just so people could feel like people?
Why does the heroine have to climb a higher tower to save the princess than the hero?
She slowly tuned out the voices of those who sang for inequality.
She was the star of every performance, the role model of every girl.
No voices outshined hers.

She kept her choir in perfect harmony.
She had always been the loudest.
Everyone singing with her thought she had the most angelic voice--the most meaningful, powerful.
Why didn’t she use this voice for riches or wealth? But she didn’t sing for that.
She sang for the dreamers and the can’t-hear-my-screamers
because Ruth knew that if you didn’t dream, dreams would never come true,
and if your dream was never heard, then nobody would dream at all.
Nobody would get what they dreamed of, they would simply think it was impossible.
Ruth was there to prove that it wasn’t impossible.
And that’s why she sang.

Ruth sang for kindness against hate,
Love against tragedy,
Remorse against shamelessness,
Heroicness against passiveness,
Smiling against smirking,
Making things better against making things better for you.
She knew that those who hated would never succeed—
that hate will do no good for them.
She believed that love will win and hate will get you nowhere in the end.

It was a lot of work to tune out all of the voices that sang for hate.
Her voice became shriller and weaker,
but still, she didn’t run out of breath.
She changed music forever.
She had the choir singing in the most beautiful harmony.
She had everything circulating in a new way, a better way.
She seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders,
yet she still sang,
and the people watched in awe.

The other side of the choir thought she was weak, doubted her, but Ruth sang on.
People wondered how long she would keep singing
before the voices of the other side of her choir became too loud for her ears,
and her voice became too soft.
She said that she would sing as long as she breathes,
even if her last breath is before the day her songs saved the world.

Things weren’t going well for Ruth.
She had gotten very sick.
She had lost her voice.
The whole world waited for it to return.
Though she couldn’t sing, she conducted the choir as best as she could.
People thought this was it for Ruth.
But it was far from the end.
She recovered. . .
And the first thing she did. . .
Start singing.

Her voice became strained.
She was old, and she was running out of breath,
but she hadn’t yet.
As the years passed her voice still shone,
drowning out those who sang of hate,
and everytime she sang a song, it became weaker, and weaker,
until she was so old her voice was quieter than a dropping pin, yet so loud.
People were used to her song filling her ears.
It wasn’t over, not for Ruth.
It wasn’t over yet.

And so more years passed and her voice was on the verge of falling out.
Finally she sang her last note:
“My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed”
and just like that,
her breath ran out,
and her voice stopped.

The courtroom went silent.
Nobody sang.
The voices she had tuned out would begin to be heard again,
and the choir that sang behind her would try their best to keep harmony without her,
but not yet.
Nobody dared to utter a single note.

The whole world listened in on September 18, 2020,
as the nation spoke of the absence of the voice of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
The days will continue—there is no stopping them—but music will never be the same,
and for now, all songs are gone.
They will be, until somebody who has a voice as powerful of hers will sing her song.

We will always have the echoes of her music in our ears.
These echos will never fade.
They are here to remind us that Ruth’s sacrifice was not in vain.
They are all there is until the music starts again.

Reader Interactions

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.